


Pixilation

by orphan_account



Category: Katekyou Hitman Reborn!
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-16
Updated: 2012-03-16
Packaged: 2017-11-02 00:41:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,890
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/363123
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Gokudera makes the acquaintance of some rather unexpected emotions when a heartbroken Yamamoto shows up on his doorstep looking for a shoulder to cry on. Set in the future.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pixilation

Gokudera wasn’t quite sure how it had come to this. In the morning, ten hours ago, he’d been listening to Yamamoto extol the virtues of some girl. Simpering over everything from the color of her eyes, to the way she bent over to look at puppies in a pet shop window. The swordsman’s eyes had been shining brightly, and Gokudera had been doing his best to smile and pretend to be interested, all the while wondering why he felt a little more empty inside with each word Yamamoto said. And why it felt like a punch to the gut when the swordsman said that he thought this girl might be “The One”, and that he was going to ask her to marry him soon. At that point Gokudera had told him to shut up and get out. He had things to do, and they didn’t include listening to the idiot’s fawning. 

Three hours ago, and Yamamoto had been standing on his doorstep, the polar opposite of his morning visage, and really the polar opposite of most everything Gokudera had come to expect of Yamamoto. After confirming that nobody had died and nobody was about to die, Gokudera did the thing a guy was supposed to do in such situations – he invited Yamamoto in for a drink.

1 hour ago, and Yamamoto was once again listing the girl’s virtues. Only this time it was in a disgustingly pitiful way, as he leaned with his head in his hands, a half-empty bottle of good whiskey on the table in front of him. Gokudera had tried to think of things to say, all the while wondering if the Tenth would agree to letting him kill someone for hurting a member of the Family. He’d never met the girl. He’d been annoyed by her existence just that morning. But now? He hated her. 

10 minutes ago, Gokudera had been struck completely dumb when Yamamoto had stopped talking, looked up, and thanked him for listening. Point blank, very Yamamoto-like. Just pure, honest gratitude, despite the hurt he was feeling. The earlier pit in Gokudera’s stomach had threatened to burst through his throat, and Gokudera cursed his horrible timing as he finally recognized it for what it was. Then he rolled his eyes and called Yamamoto an idiot. The idiot had looked grateful.

2 minutes ago Gokudera had stood, intending to go replace the now-empty whiskey bottle (he’d helped Yamamoto along quite nicely after his revelation) with another, larger one, because the expensive stuff came in stupidly small bottles, and three drinks just wasn’t enough for the situation. Which was when Yamamoto had, for whatever strange reason, grabbed his wrist, pulling him down beside him on the couch. Nuzzled into his shoulder in a way that was ridiculously touchy, and Gokudera felt his heart burst at the familiar weight, now pressed against him in a pitifully unmanly way. But then, Yamamoto had never really seemed all that worried about being manly. Or anything else, for that matter. 

30 seconds ago Gokudera had swallowed hard, lectured his now-breaking heart, and tried to shove the other man off of his shoulder. Only to find himself wrapping his arm awkwardly around Yamamoto, and trying to comfort him instead. He blinked, wondering how exactly he’d managed to do that.

15 seconds ago, Yamamoto had looked up at him, big brown eyes revealing everything Gokudera wished they wouldn’t, and thanked him again.

10 seconds ago, Gokudera lost his hold on his self-control. He’d never been very good with that, anyway. His hand has slid up, tentatively, almost gently, to slide across Yamamoto’s cheek and around the back of his head, fingers nestling into the swordsman’s short hair. 

5 seconds ago, with Yamamoto’s eyes slightly wider, expression slightly more coherent from surprise, Gokudera had leaned in, and kissed the taller man. It was closed-mouthed, and slightly awkward because Gokudera didn’t do this that often, and had never done it in quite these circumstances, but he tried to make it sincere. He had no right to do anything else.

And now...now Yamamoto was shoving him back, and Gokudera allowed him to, because he had no right to resist that, either. The half-Italian braced himself to apologize, because Yamamoto certainly deserved that. Except that Yamamoto wasn’t stopping, wasn’t pushing him away anymore. He was pushing him down, onto the couch, following, and then initiating a new kiss. Gokudera’s eyes opened in shock. It was sloppy, the aim slightly off, and very much the kiss of somebody whose brain was addled by alcohol, but that wasn’t the point. Yamamoto was kissing back. Gokudera opened his mouth, and the kiss deepened. Yamamoto’s hands left Gokudera’s shoulders, and Gokudera’s slid around his, holding tightly as the swordsman’s tongue slipped into his mouth, and in the back of his mind –the same part where he’d shoved the guilt he knew he should be feeling for this – Gokudera thought that it was odd that Yamamoto wasn’t hesitating more. But that hardly mattered now, because Yamamoto’s hands were under his shirt, and then they were parting, divesting themselves and each other of their shirts before Yamamoto fell back down, pressing their chests together. Gokudera gasped. 

Yamamoto leaned down for another lazy kiss, then pulled back, watching Gokudera as he allowed his hands to explore the smaller boy’s body, running over the slender, wiry body, exploring the curves and contours of his body, the scars and blemishes of his skin, curiously. The light touches made Gokudera shake, and only proved what he’d figured out such a short time ago. That he, Gokudera Hayato, was a despicable person. A despicable person who was apparently in love with one Yamamoto Takeshi. And when Yamamoto’s hand slid down past their naked torsos, to cup his erection through his slacks, Gokudera arched off the couch with a cry, his hand reaching his mouth to try and stifle it too late.

Yamamoto leaned back and smiled, gently. Then he reached down and clasped Gokudera’s wrist, pulling the other man’s hand away from his mouth, were he’d left it to mask any other embarrassing sounds he might make. Gokudera’s eyes widened, and Yamamoto smiled before pulling the half-Italian up and into a new kiss, hard and passionate and far more possessive than Gokudera would have thought possible for their current states of mind. He groaned, thrusting into the hand Yamamoto hadn’t bothered to move, his hand reaching for and scrabbling to open the taller man’s belt. 

Somehow, Gokudera wasn’t sure how, they managed to get their pants down, Yamamoto’s tangled around his ankles, but when a few yanks failed to remove them, Gokudera gave up, leaving them there, because Yamamoto’s hand was suddenly wrapped around his erection, and it was damn hard to think of a way to remove someone’s pants when you were being jerked off. Even harder when your legs were being spread apart, and someone was settling inside them. Gokudera let his head fall back with a groan, reaching his hands up to grasp the arm of the couch above his head, using it as leverage to push down against Yamamoto.

The swordsman’s reaction was quick, as he let go of Gokudera’s erection, leaning over and bracing his hands by the smaller man’s shoulders as he ground his hips against Gokudera’s, their erections sliding together. He leaned down to briefly kiss Gokudera, then replaced his lips with his fingers, tracing the contours of the smaller man’s lips until Gokudera opened his mouth, lazily drawing his fingers in, sucking gently.

Gokudera’s eyes were open and he was glad for it, when the expression of lazy lust on Yamamoto’s face grew a bit sharper as he sucked on the swordsman’s fingers. Got to watch his pupils dilate when Gokudera bit slightly, then settled for exploring the heavily-calloused skin with his tongue. He moaned softly, around the digits, and refused to allow himself to feel regret when Yamamoto removed them. 

He gasped allowed a few seconds later, though, when the dark-haired man shifted, sliding his hand down, slipping his fingers between Gokudera’s ass, teasing and then pushing into him. It burned, and Gokudera bit his lip, fingers tightening on the arm rest as he told himself to relax. That he’d started this and, more importantly, this was Yamamoto who, despite being an idiot, had a tendency to make things be okay. And then it was okay, even when the other man added two fingers, then three, the burn gradually fading into something else, and Gokudera found himself pushing down, wanting them deeper, harder...

...Yamamoto removed his fingers and positioned himself. Then, he paused. Gokudera looked up at him, confused, wondering if maybe Yamamoto had finally realized what the hell he was doing. But the swordsman simply watched him for a few seconds, and then asked if he was ready.

Gokudera almost laughed. Almost cried. Almost called it off right then. Because only Yamamoto would ask that now. Even drunk, hurting, and now horny, he gave a damn. Was still the same foolish baseball idiot. And Gokudera was pretty sure he was taking advantage of that. But he couldn’t call it off, not now. So he looked up into those dark brown eyes, bit his lip, and nodded.

Yamamoto shifted, tightened his grasp, and slid his hips forward, cock entering smoothly as Gokudera forced himself to relax, the alcohol from earlier making it far easier, and they both moaned, groaned and Gokudera shuddered, eyes closing when Yamamoto began to move. The swordsman’s thrusts were uneven, but that hardly mattered because Yamamoto was inside of him, and Gokudera was getting what he hadn’t even known he’d wanted until 2 hours ago. His fingers bit into the arm of the couch as he tried to meet the strange non-rhythm, and finding it reasonably easy to read after a few moments. Then one thrust hit that spot, and he cried out, managing to bite it short just before it became the other man’s name. 

Yamamoto paused, though, looking down at him curiously, and shifted his position slightly, pulling one of Gokudera’s legs over his shoulder. Then he started moving again, and Gokudera saw white, because now most of the thrusts were hitting, and he bit his lip because all he wanted to do was scream Yamamoto’s name, and that was terribly inappropriate given the situation. Then Yamamoto gave one last, hard thrust, eyes closing as he came.

And Gokudera’s eyes widened, because the swordsman did say a name, and it wasn’t the girl’s. Four syllables, and clear. His. Yamamoto was groaning his name in that tone, with that expression, as he came. Gokudera broke, and practically screamed Yamamoto’s name back as his orgasm own hit him, white spots filling his vision as he reached up, pulling the bigger man into a desperate kiss.

By the time he’d gathered enough of his senses back to see clearly again, Yamamoto had collapsed, falling just enough to the side that he wasn’t crushing the man beneath him. Gokudera looked at the swordsman where he lay, already close to sleeping. Gently, he ran his hand across the other man’s shoulders. He’d get up, clean them up, in a few hours. Give them both some sense of propriety. Just in case Yamamoto chose not to remember any of this. It would make things less awkward.


End file.
